More entries from another yesterday (lit'rally)
8:41 PM 01/22/2007
In the interests of my little pretense that others out there actually read this stuff, I'll continue...more flotsam and jetsam of the mind. (And whoever came up with such words? Not only whoever but whyever? Did someone just sit around by the sea and suddenly decide "hey, wtf are we going to call this sloppy mess that washes in and out with the tide? oh, wait. Whatsis? A green leg of lamb? Pass the mustard, mate.")
I have decided to make my own mental peace with Jack Kornfield and his book "After the Ecstasy, the Laundry" on account of the fact that I should've been more choosy with what I read in the first place. I have other fish to fry at the moment. Besides, we Buddhists shouldn't be talking at each other all the time. It makes us look rather too much like politicians. Not that Mr. Kornfield ever would sit there and decide "hey, nothing to do. I'll surf people's blogs" and then find mine or anything.
About those other fish to fry: I know I am not perfect, but I don't intentionally cause harm or foul to befall another person. Sometimes in the heat of the moment I may fall into a reaction. But I try not to. So it makes me wonder why anyone would think they can get away with pulling one over out of spite. What? Do some people actually have nothing better to do than to try to get a rise out of others? It's silly.
Whatever.
10:51 PM 01/22/2007
A note about certain mornings:
Madness. Chaos. Degradation. Terror. Inhumanity. Or just another morning rush hour in Chicago full of under-slept workers hopped up on coffee and Ipods blasting away at their senses. All trying to get to their jobs at least under five minutes late. All looking sullen and generally like they are going through emotional hells, hoping by hook or crook that the last thread of sanity isn't felted or frayed. No wonder then when the red-line mysteriously stalls between the North-and-Clyborn and Clark-and-Division stops, the most mildly mannered-looking woman dressed like a sharp lawyer looses it completely and spews out invective that would embarass the proverbial swearing sailor. All I can think is this: at least most people on this sardine-tin excuse for a rail car have remembered to shower before they numbly stumbled out their doors and into the vortex. I take the small blessings wherever and whenever I can.
Hey, now. People who routinize themselves and treat anyone outside of that routine as a potential threat are the ones complaining about the lack of civility or kindness. Yeah. I know the yarns we all spin. The excuses of the urban dwellers that give us the sweet lie that being kind or open to others leaves us more vulnerable to those portions of the human species that prey on others. But I know the difference between kindness or openness and being a total naive mark. And I enjoy talking with the strangers I meet.
In fact, most of the harm I have experienced has come from people I thought I knew well. So the stranger-danger line of thinking doesn't fly with me. On the other hand, when I am walking home at 3am, I know well enough not to stop when someone down the street calls out "Hey, mister!" while not looking lost or in need of immediate physical help, and I try to make sure any women friends I may have just hung out with get home okay, even if it means walking them to their door, or ensuring their steel toed boots are ready. I remember a time when I was walking home several blocks after a pub session, and it was well into 4am. Down the block a group of thuggy-looking sorts were coming my way. Did I try to be tough and walk by them in an effort to show I was cool or unafraid? Hell no. I quickly disappeared down an alternate route away. (Ripping a beloved sweater and almost hanging myself on a photo vest in the process.) Who knows? Maybe the group was just out for a stroll, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. (A group of rough looking men out for a harmless stroll at 4am? What, they all sat around and decided, "hey, mates let's go out for a harmless walk." Right.)
But that was late at night. At a time when only drunken or tired sorts and cops should be out. So I think my suspicions were warranted. During rush hour, most of the people out are going to work, or wherever the hell it is people go to, maybe interviews. And I have found that fellow commuters are actually surprised when spontaneous conversation comes their way. It's a great stress reliever and it helps maybe in some small way to keep some humanity in our mechanical daily routines.
Anyway, chances are that the person sitting next to me on the train reading the paper is not a raving closet psychopath. And even if she or he was, if I were them, I'd be more worried about the complications I would cause them if they tried anything funnybad. But ninety-nine point nine percent of the time, my train chats have been pleasant, informative and human. I have actually befriended a couple of people in just that way. Hell, if someone sits next to me and reads what looks to be an interesting book or article, I'm not keeping my mouth shut. I have questions. And we may as well pass the transit time in an old pastime: conversation. You remember that? Back when people actually talked face to face? Before the invasion of PDAs, Ipods and over-gadgeted cell phones? Some of those phones are getting a bit much nowadays. I wonder when they'll be able to find people dates and hook-ups. Laugh, but people will still buy them if they can deliver. No matter the price.
It's happened to me too. While riding on the train, reading some book, someone sits next to me and asks me about the book and whether it's interesting. Almost all of them have been women, but they tend to be more friendly in my experience, when it's not at some bar or club where droves of men go to score. Also, I think they sense there is nothing ulterior I want from them. Not even another conversation beyond the train ride. Some of my friends remain skeptical about that simple friendliness from stranger-women and say it's my eyes or something. But I really think it's genuine friendliness. Maybe I am suckering myself, but I don't think so. (Hey, guys. Most women really just would like to be friendly without anything else attached. Sorry to blow your minds.) Actually this leads into the fact that I could be in any corner of some cafe or bookstore or even some lakefront park, reading or writing, and some lady comes up and asks me about it. It never fails. Especially when I am so engrossed into what I am focused on that I think most people would be afraid to interrupt me. But I really don't care. If I wanted to truly be left alone and unbothered by anybody else, I wouldn't have gone out in public. My friends say it's some attraction or chemistry. I say "whatever." It's probably karma or the fact I have a calm heart which is happiest when not grasping at anything more than what is. People intuitively pick up on that. That's how I see it.
Although there was that weirdo that one day who noticed the Irish book I was reading and asked me if I was reading it for school. "School?" I said. He looked at me, in a hackle-raising gaze, and I continued, "No. It's my other language." "Oh," he responded and since he found no other thing to say to that, he moved on. And I continued reading. Was that on a train or in a bar? I am foggy about it now. What was that book? Ah...Allagar Na hInse. I now barely remember what it was about. Now I get that Irish looks pretty damned weird on print, but hell, the guy looked like a wannabe serial-killer or...maybe he was just on meds, or hopped up on coffee or hangover pills. Maybe he thought I was the loon. Who can say? I always take careful note of someone's pupils. Eyes say a lot about intentions and they do sort of broadcast one's integrity or lack of integration. I grew up in the city, so I learned to be a quick reader of faces and body language, since these skills are what helps one avoid trouble before hand.
All right, so none of you are really interested in these little blurbs about interactions with strangers. But since you, my blog audience, is largely imaginary anyway, it's best you just be polite and realize that it's my entries you're reading and I'll muse about whatever I want. Since you're all imaginary. I can make you all go away, and come up with another imaginary audience. It's a troubling day indeed when I have to argue with an imaginary audience. I'd rather argue in real life with real people. But that just gets into the merits of NOT choosing the greasy burger joint after the pub. Or about how I am NOT drinking anymore damned shots.
Yep. I meditate and practice spirituality more than most and I still like a night out here and there with friends in a pub. Sorry, but I am an adult. I got over the fact that spirituality is either lived in real life or it becomes some sort of evasion or excuse to hide from those parts of life that hurt. For me in this life, spirituality is precisely what allows me to remain open even while in pain. It's not hiding from pain. Actually not hiding from anything. It is not something I do on weekends to either absolve myself from wrongs or to escape the pressure cooker of daily life. It is that pressure cooker and the fact that I can remain centered in the midst of it all. I don't go looking for dramas. But neither am I swayed into escaping from those parts of life that are uncomfortable. I believe that psychologists call this "affect tolerance." That's what I have lots of. The places that scare me (to borrow the title of one of Pema Chodron's books) emotionally are precisely what, when I find them, I delve into. Knowing full well it's counterintuitive or at least against the grain of daily. I know the wealth and bliss that comes from experiencing those emotional places, giving them their rightful place. You can't heal any wound by denying it's there.
All right. Enough. I need a break from this keyboard.
8:40 AM 01/23/2007
I've had that Irish phrase on my profile for months now. I should remove it since no one got the joke. Dealraíonn sé dom nach bhfuil daoine ar Myspace atá Gaeilge acu ar bith. No rush hour morning today. And besides, if there was, I wouldn't make note of it until much later, such as around 11pm or so several weeks later.
Despite the fact that I am used to the whole group meditation and discussion format which seems to be the most popular among American Buddhists, I still at heart think of meditation practices as something one does by oneself. I am so used to solitary meditation that it's just a given. Being a part of a practice community is important for inspiration and encouragement, support. But somehow I have seemed to absorb the traditional Buddhist way lock, stock and barrel. That is, mostly meditation alone, or by myself, with the guidance of mentors which will occasionally see me for questions and for giving further instructions or advice. I have meditated regularly with groups, and I have chanted mantras and taken part in assemblies for rituals. But solitary meditation is the foundation and staple. I think that the group meditation session is perhaps an adaptation to the modern Western world. It's not a bad thing at all. It's just that Trungpa Rinpoche was right. What you do when no one is around (or when you think no one else is around) is what matters. THAT is who you really are. And sometimes the whole group thing can fall into the pitfall of pretense and competitiveness, which is silly. But I have seen and heard people who show up to group sessions and somehow think of themselves as advanced meditators or more spiritual than the rest and make a point of broadcasting that. I wonder about that. What, do people actually sit there and think "I am such a better meditator than these sorts" and think this somehow makes them special?
The forms and practices, the various methods and instructions, of meditation are all fine and good. But it's not meditation. It's stabilizing one's mind. Making it stronger or more perceptive so that one can rest in the gap between thoughts and then watch as thoughts and emotions rise and fall. Meditation is liberating the mind through that rising and falling. And I mean through in every sense of that word. There is no better or worse. There are some who can maintain the rest in the gap longer than others. But still the salient difference is really between realizing Buddhahood and not realizing Buddhahood. Are you glimpsing or realizing a taste of Nirvana (or let's be ambitious, Nirvana itself) or not? The way I have phrased the question sounds deceptively simple. But it can get complicated as any experience practitioner knows. Yet, it is still simple, whether the simplicity seems deceptive or not.
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America's major social ideal or value is work to make money. Yet, anyone who is rude enough to actually express this truth is looked down upon, or looked at as some greedy person. Or they are looked at as some non-team-player who is only in it for the reward. Sorry, but how many people in this country actually work at jobs or careers with no eye towards the rewards they enjoy from such work? How many out there actually work because they want to be fulfilled and contribute to a team or something greater than themselves, as opposed to working somewhere (possibly not quite fulfilling) because they need the money? Obviously, money is the the ape sitting at the banquet. No one really wants to talk about it and those rude enough to actually spell out this fact is considered a downer.
It's really simple. Whether it's work you like, or work you'd rather not do, you are doing it to make money. The necessities are...well...necessities. Maslow was spot on and we would do well to remember certain facts of life.
But this work mentality is starting to become obsessive. America is probably the only industrialized nation where there is still debate over things like maternity leave or medical leave for loved ones and all the rest. We still debate about minimum wage and all that. We actually find it hard to accept the notion that anyone who works deserves a living wage and access to health care. We look down upon those who have children and still work, not because they work, but because having children can interfere with work. We claim to consider education as important, but only in as much as it supports the economy. In fact, human development is now judged with economic criteria. This may be why poets and other sorts in this country never make livings as poets, because poetry isn't very lucrative and thus most people deem it worthless. "Why don't those poets get a real career or job?" (Though most poets work at careers or jobs. Which is probably why the level of poetry in America now is pretty bad.)
How many absolutely brilliant geniuses are out there that could be contributing their talents and creations to the world but aren't because they have to stay in unfulfilling soul-sucking low-wage hell jobs, working away most of their days, ten times harder than any CEO and yet earning basically what amounts to the pocket lint of an expensive Italian suit that same CEO wears? What exactly does a CEO do that is so hard? It's not like you even need a college degree to learn how to be a CEO. I know that traditionally in human urban cultures, it's only the fabulously wealthy that have the leisure to explore their talents, but America is supposedly a democracy. Half the reason why it is so hard for artists or other creative geniuses like scientists to do what they do is because of the fact that Americans as a whole do not appreciate them, unless they are already rich and famous. Hell, you can be rich and famous without ever once lifting a finger in creating anything of value to another human being, and people here will think you are somehow more important or interesting.
Maybe it's time to put the value of a democratic society back where it belongs: on the individual human being. Whether the person makes ten bucks an hour at the bookstore, or whether they make six figures as a corporate lawyer, one is not necessarily more important or interesting than the other. The hold that life has is on all of us. I wonder how many people have this self-esteem slowly bled out of them because they have to work jobs which are really compromises with the reality of needing money.
We wonder how many of today's youth could be so misguided or so under-raised, yet we don't question the fact that their parents have to work so much that they miss out on their children's lives. (And by parents, I mean both the father and mother. So that whole "working mothers should stay home" line of thinking holds no water with me.) We teach children that people are important and that God/spirit/whatever is the highest value, and we turn around as a society and never think to do more than pay lip service to those ideals. Sure, the forests are important, but if we can make umpteen billion dollars and provide a thousand jobs by cutting them down, those forests are harvested before you can finish your next Starbucks latte.
That said. I have no problem with work to make money. You have to do something. Even before humans became urbanized or agriculturalized, our hunter-gatherer ancestors still had to go out and get food. What I have a problem with is the whole idea that people should deceive themselves into thinking they are a part of some team or making some contribution when they are doing something primarily for the financial reward. It's time Americans stop pretending that they are not materialist or at least dominated, if not at least ubiquitously influenced, by money. The fact that we put "God" on bills seems to escape everyone's notice, but money is the new religion and getting and spending it is probably our only real faith. I don't feel sorry for those of you who live this way, and yet pretend that this is not what is really going on. I feel sorry for those who feel stressed out or for those who have to defer their dreams or their own innate capabilities because they have to immediately make enough to make ends meet. It's easy to get lost and it's easy to lose one's direction in our society because of this. And we wonder why our society seems to be harder or less kind or more short sighted?
Hah! Sucker. The joke's on us.
12:31 AM 01/24/2007
I have decided that walking everywhere in this city is now more efficient than taking the train. I don't know what's happened to the CTA, but lately it seems that what should only be a ten minute trip somehow gets convoluted into an hour or so. Seriously, walking is faster and besides, the exercise can only be healthy (unless someone runs me over). The whole reason I used to like the train as opposed to the bus, or car travel for that matter, was the fact that it was a quick and direct way to get somewhere. I hated buses which got stuck in traffic and the stop-and-go of picking up and letting off passengers. Now that the trains are stopping and stalling at random along their route makes the whole thing pointless. So, walking is the way to go now. It's a lot quicker. And at least if I stop and stall or get diverted or distracted on my walk, I know the damn reason.
President Bush was on TV giving his Status of the Onion address tonight. I know this because his face was on every screen at the bar I went to with a friend. (I'd tell you which one, but would it matter to you?) I had hoped to avoid all sight and sound of the spectacle, but I guess there is ultimately no way to be completely free of it. I still paid no attention to what he said. Which is what I would have done had I stayed home and had the TV on. No attention paid. Some of you out there might think I am apathetic, and maybe I'd agree, but in this case it really comes down to the fact that Bush really has nothing to say that I consider valid or interesting. It's not even about politics. I think he is full of hot air and frou frou. About as substantial as the dust gathering on this laptop screen. (Actually, what state of the union address is ever really substantial? I know the way the mediots talk on and on about it, you'd almost think it was something to comment on. But nope. Not buying it. Sorry.)
Speaking of mediots. That's the word for the evening. Media+idiots=mediots. Don't know if I made that up or if it came from somewhere else. Reminds me of vidiots.
I'd tell a joke now, but sleep is pulling down my eyelids for some reason.